Small droplets of crimson pool before my eyes
As the Innocent hangs from that cruel tree.
His body ravaged and torn from the
Centurion's lash. The woven crown of
thorns pierce His skin.
No crime has He committed, not even
the Pilate could find His crime.
"Crucify Him", "CRUCIFY HIM",
they cried...my heart hangs with Him
on that tree. Oh how my soul weeps,
Sweet Mary, blessed among women.
Oh the pains and sorrow that show
in Your eyes. Is this the same child
You bore that now hangs from this tree?
Did You wipe away His childhood tears?
What joy must have filled your Mother's
heart as He lay sleeping on your breast.
Did you coo gently and whisper softly to
Him as He lay sleeping? Did you realize
the trials and heartache that lay in store?
My heart weeps with You as Your blessed
Son hangs from the Roman's tree.
What crimes has He committed?
Why do they cry out for His blood?
Teacher, oh gentle wise Teacher...
why must You suffer so?
Your life is ebbing away...
Oh that I could beg you to
stay, but Prophecy is written
in the scrolls of Heaven.
The sand and gravel dig at my knees
as tears trail down my cheeks.
why do You do this? Why do You
suffer such agonies?"
My heart and soul pleads with Him.
Looking down from His cruel cross,
with compassion and boundless love
softly He answers,
"My precious child,
This I do for You."